


Coffee Under the Winter Sun

by MarshmallowMcGonagall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, this doesn't end happily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21752671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowMcGonagall/pseuds/MarshmallowMcGonagall
Summary: The Daily Prophet brings dark tidings after Yule.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	Coffee Under the Winter Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZombieCyborgAssassin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieCyborgAssassin/gifts).



> My thanks to MidnightValkyrie for the handholding in getting this fic completed. And to ZombieCyborgAssassin for inadvertently providing a prompt to what preceded the (happy) events of [Constellations in Flourish and Blotts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678058).

The coffee mug smashed on the ground, the imperfect pottery splintering into shards and throwing black coffee across the pawprint covered snow. The rush of fire from Floo Powder ceased and Hermione stumbled back into the house without a care for the splatters of hot coffee on her pyjamas and across her slippers.

No one visited this early after Yule. A trickle of dread ran down her spine. Turning away from the open door, she walked briskly in the way people do when intent on not tempting bad luck by running towards trouble. The door to the study was open and the smell of Floo Powder twisted through the air as pieces of ash were caught alongside motes in the sunlight which crept between the curtains. The heavy drapes kept the room in near darkness except for a shard of light which pierced the length of the room. Its point landed on a folded piece of parchment lying as if forgotten in the middle of the desk, pinned down by a book.

Draco grumbled in his sleep when the owl made its presence known at the bedroom window. Hermione eased herself out of his arms and crept to the window, pushing the curtains aside only far enough so that she could push the sash up. The Daily Prophet was rolled up and tied with twine, only the back pages visible, showing what the scores of the Yule quidditch friendlies were. Hermione relieved the owl of its burden and the owl flew away. Hermione eased the sash down and pulled the curtains closed.

Crookshanks jumped off the end of the bed and stretched after a night of denying Draco the precise comfort he sought, a compromise which had been years in the making. If Draco was going to sleep with Hermione in his arms, Crookshanks was going to make sure the man surrendered the end of the bed. As it was, Draco had grown fond of the ginger beast who deigned to let his mistress bring someone else into their bed.

Hermione left the Daily Prophet on the end of the bed so Draco could see the quidditch scores when he woke up. She followed Crookshanks out of the bedroom then paused in the doorway to look back. Draco’s tousled blond hair lay across his face and his left arm was outstretched against the white sheets. The brand a shard of darkness against his pale skin. He no longer burned yet each curve of the skull, each line of the snake, was a stain as sharp and clear as if he had been branded hours before and not years. She watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing slow once her disappearance from his hold had given way to sleep, she turned away and left him in the dark.

She rushed through the study to the fireplace and saw the blackened remains of the Daily Prophet curling up in the flames. The edges of a headline still to be burned away, the remnants of a photo disappearing before her eyes. A black and white photo of the man she had left in bed, going up in smoke. She spun around, one hand clutching her stomach, the other over her mouth as the burn of tears spread through her. Her gaze darted around the study and she caught sight of the parchment. She grabbed it from beneath the book, and unfolded the parchment revealed its prize of a few words in handwriting she treasured.

“No,” she said. “No!”

She ran the few steps to the fireplace and flung a handful of Floo Powder into the fire, the parchment tight in the grasp of her other hand.

“Malfoy Manor,” she begged of the green flames before stepping into the fire. And then she was gone in a twirl of bushy hair and flames.

Draco lifted the Disillusionment Charm and stepped out from the darkness at the back of the room. He strode through the house, kicking aside a broken mug which lay shattered across the ground around the back door.

Hermione tumbled out of the fireplace and into the parlour of Malfoy Manor, grabbing the back of an armchair to stop herself falling as a cloud of ash settled around her. Lucius and Narcissa rose from their seats, cups of coffee spilling on the table between them in their haste. Hermione saw their expressions and knew then what he had done.

“He’s not here,” said Hermione, her tears and desperation betraying her. She shook her head and eyes closed, stumbled back. Lucius lunged towards her and grabbed her arms before she could fall into the fire.

“What’s happened?” said Narcissa, but she caught Hermione looking at the Daily Prophet Lucius had thrown to the floor. Narcissa saw the parchment grasped in Hermione’s hand as Lucius let Hermione go. Then Hermione was spinning around and grabbing Floo Powder from the bowl above the fireplace. Lucius and Narcissa barely heard her request the address of the little house before she had disappeared into the flames.

Crookshanks ran after Draco as he strode out of the house. Crookshanks tried meowing, howling, yelling and yowling. This was wrong. His mistress had chosen this one. Let this one into her bed. Only this one. Crookshanks leapt on Draco’s cloak and Draco had to wrestle the beast from him. Crookshanks on the ground, Draco walked backwards, unable to take his eyes from the little house even as Crookshanks kept up his protests. His mistress had watched this one sleeping. His mistress said the same three words to this one as she did to him. This one said the same words to her.

“It’s for her own good,” Draco shouted at Crookshanks. Draco knew he didn’t have long. He glanced back at the little house. Their little paradise. He could replace everything he was leaving behind. Except her. “I need every minute I can get.” He saw the telltale plume of smoke from the chimney. Someone had used Floo Powder. Yet he knew he was hesitating. “She needs to - I can't let - ”

Hermione ran through the kitchen, her slippers plunging through a puddle of coffee, the splash disappearing amidst the crack of Disapparition. Amongst pawprints, Draco's stride had crushed the fresh snow into deep footprints. Shards of pottery and coffee in the snow lessened the further she ran. The bright December morning was sharp and clear and the snow was the kind perfect for building snowmen and having snowball fights.

“Draco!” The freezing burn of winter air rushed into Hermione’s lungs and she stopped, gasping for breath at the edge of the garden where Crookshanks stood on the barest hint of a wall which separated their paradise from the fields and woodland beyond.

Hermione fell to her knees where Draco’s footsteps disappeared. The last set of footprints marred where he had turned to Disapparate. Her hand flew to her mouth and the other to her lap, the parchment barely in her grasp. A gust of wind stirred up snow and lifted the parchment from her hand. She scrambled up and chased the breeze across the frozen ground.

Lucius and Narcissa rushed into the foyer when the front door slammed open and Draco stormed into the house, his face etched with pain.

“Don’t,” said Draco, the word almost choking him. He rubbed his mouth as his wand hung at his side. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his parents as he walked away, his cloak surging around him.

He had disappeared before. He knew which strings to pull. The owls to send and Galleons to give. Better she hate him and be safe than let her become collateral damage. Than let her become prey. He had been branded and couldn’t let that fire touch her. Not again. He had watched her burn in the fires of an Unforgivable. Watched her be branded by Dark Magic in a way which made his Dark Mark seem little more than an ink stain.

Hermione grabbed the parchment from the air and fell, her hands and knees hitting the ground, shards of ice and frozen soil piercing her skin. The parchment pinned to the ground, through tears, she saw again his quick scrawl. The words which had already burned themselves into her memory. Birds flew from the trees when they heard the cry break free from her body, the ink of his farewell bleeding through the parchment as the snow beneath melted at her warm touch.

Draco stirred when he heard Hermione talking to Crookshanks as they walked through the house to begin their morning routine of coffee and an inspection of the garden. Draco hoped she would make coffee for him, too. It had been a late night. Entirely worth it, he knew, but late nonetheless. He stretched and his foot hit something hard at the end of the bed. He propped himself up and seeing the rolled up bundle, ran his hand through his hair then stretched across the bed and picked up the Daily Prophet. He wanted to know who had won in yesterday’s quidditch matches. Pulling off the twine, the paper unfurled in front of him, the front page unveiling itself. The paper tight in his grasp, he got out of bed, the ink rubbing off on his skin at his warm touch.

Crookshanks leapt through the snow as his mistress carried her mug of coffee to the door so she could watch him. She had left a mug of coffee for Draco on the table. It wouldn’t be long before he came through from the bedroom, running his hand through his hair, telling her about the quidditch scores which she would pretend to be interested in before he laughed and swept her into his arms. A number of coffee mugs had been subject to a Reparo after enthusiastic good mornings. Hermione watched Crookshanks dive into the snow again, clumps of snow sticking to his fur, smiling to herself as she waited to be in Draco’s arms again.


End file.
